


fortune favors the bold

by saturniawaning (sayonaraearthling)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Cheating, Choking, Cuckolding, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Alternating, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spanking, Underage Sex, im so sorry i did this to you gon, killua & gon are like 17/18, listen i just wanted hisoka to fuck killua silly okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayonaraearthling/pseuds/saturniawaning
Summary: Different from Eve, who accepts the apple the snake offered; Killua refuses, yet still ended up with a dick in his ass.
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Hisoka/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83





	fortune favors the bold

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I couldn't get Hisoka saying he really wanted to fight Killua out my head and as such this fic was born.
> 
> Props to my lovely beta [timeloan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeloan/pseuds/timeloan), check out their works they're an amazing writer!! Also thank them because you wouldn't have that spanking tag without them

“Alright! Wrap it up boys!”

Killua joins in cheering with the rest of his teammates. Bisky’s practices were always grueling, by the time she called for the end of practice, everyone was subsequently waiting to drop.

As per tradition, he makes a show of it, groaning high and loud as he gives into the calling of his heavy limbs and tosses himself back in the middle of the field with a large THUMP!

“Time for cool down stretches!” Knuckle’s voice booms.

Bisky’s voice follows right behind him, cutting off the scattered chorus of groans; “The faster the lot of you move, the faster we can get out of here!”

Killua closes his eyes tight, there’s a pleasant sting behind them that he savors in, less intense than the screaming of his calves but just enough that the creeping sting surrounding them fades just a tad. The rest of the team is used to his antics and don’t mind walking over him. He can’t help but kick out at Ikalgo when he passes over him and only sticks his tongue out when the red-head shoots him an annoyed glare.

“Killua!” Just as soon as he hears Gon call, he first recognizes the weird left-foot-first run Gon always did when on the field and—oh shit, oh fuck

Gon belly flops on top of him with a giddy little giggle that never fails to make Killua’s heart do a little somersault. Though if he could, he would much rather prefer slapping Gon upside the head because damn, that actually hurt a little. 

“Hi,” his boyfriend chirps.

“Hey.” He greets back, Gon’s giddiness is contagious. There’s a beat of silence until the two can’t take it anymore and burst out in chuckles.

“Freecss, Zoldyck! That means you too, move it!”

He slaps lightly at Gon’s back, “You heard Bisky, get off. You smell anyways.” Gon jerks up to his elbows, brows furrowed in annoyance but it’s quickly replaced with a smile.

“You say that like you don’t smell too.” Gon taunts with a giggle, and infectiously enough, Killua can’t help but snort at it too. He shoves at his shoulder, maneuvering him off and takes Gon’s hand when he offers to help him up. If his hand lingers for just a second longer than normal, well- that’s between them.

The rest of the team is already moving through stretches and blissfully ignoring them. Their teammates have long since gotten used to the couple doing whatever they wanted, when they wanted. It was more effective to simply leave them be at times, especially if you wanted to avoid a headache.

Gon bolts for the circle the team makes and Killua watches him go, firmly rooted in place where he had fallen.

He’s never been one for… cool down stretches (which also lead into packing up the equipment, he doesn’t do that either), so when Bisky’s back is turned Killua makes a beeline towards their little shack of a club room to change. Already halfway across the field, he can hear Bisky sigh dramatically and he knows without a doubt that she’s noticed. He's too far to be worth chasing.

It’s an unspoken rule that Killua gets first dibs in the locker room after all. 

He kicks off his cleats and sets towards his locker to get all of his things to shower. By the time he’s washed the dirt and grime off of him and turned off the shower head, the door creaks open and without even having to glance, he knows Gon is here.

Knowing him, Gon probably did a few stretches just to keep up appearances and appease Bisky then ditched just like he did. Gon was nice like that.

Gon finds him sitting on the bench, fresh from the shower with his hair dripping puddles onto the floor. Without a word, Gon pulls at his hand, stopping him from drying his hair and plants a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Hey.”

Killua nods, making himself small as he feels his cheeks flush red at Gon’s shamelessness.

His boyfriend pays him no mind, plopping down on the bench beside him and distracts himself with the laces on his cleats, so he follows his lead and does the same, pulling away to get dressed.

Only to discover, his sweats aren’t in his locker.

“Dammit!” He curses, sudden and loud enough for it to echo off the walls of the empty locker room. Gon doesn’t jump at his scream, but he does flinch when he slams his locker shut- whoops that was a little too dramatic. Oh well. Killua pivots on his heel, jumping in place trying to get his sweat-soaked shorts back on while they stick helplessly to his thighs. He can’t help but pull at the waistband and wrinkle his nose in distaste.  _ Gross _ .

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Gon gets his bearings and leans back from where he’s perched on the bench to get a better look at him.

Killua sighs as he spins around his one clean shirt around his finger, “Pretty sure I forgot my spare clothes at home. I thought I left an extra pair of shorts in my locker but they’re not here.”

“Oh, just borrow mine! I’ll just shower when I get home.” 

Killua eyes the highlighter neon green shorts Gon offers with distaste, they were  _ far  _ too short on someone as tall as Killua, let alone, hellishly difficult to even look at. “Yeah, no thanks, I’ll just wear my dirty ones.”

“They’re not that bad,” Gon pouts, insulted. “Aunt Mito is making curry tonight, by the way. You should come!”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Freecss?”

“Well you’d come over whether I invited you or not so it’s fine. And this way, you have to wear my shorts.” He chirps back as if Killua hasn’t considered any different.

It’s true though, for as much of a fuss as he puts up, he knows if Gon told him to jump he would ask how high and toss his ass into the air.

The others start to trickle in one by one, effectively pulling Killua’s attention away from Gon — right, they were in public.

“Fine.” He gives, “But I’m taking them off the second we get in.”

“That works!” Gon replies, “Oh and after you left to go shower Knuckle said he wanted to talk to me. He didn’t say why, but I’m staying late.”

“Okay, waiting here would be boring, so I’ll just see you at the hideout then.”

Killua says his goodbyes to the team before taking his leave. He can hear Gon downright belt out his goodbye well through the brick walls of the locker room even after he’s outside and he can’t help the way his lips curve into a fond smile —  _ the idiot. _

▬▭▬

There’s a hole-in-the-wall laundromat sandwiched in between an old-timey convenience store and an equally unassuming bookstore (that he and Gon avoided like the plague outside of finals season) just a ten minute walk from Hunter High School. It’s tucked beside the bridge overlooking the river just underneath it on the old, run down side of town.

The two of them discovered it by chance on a run. It wasn’t rare that he and Gon would skulk off to do their own thing during team sprints through the neighborhood. One quick challenge to a race, and shoving each other into unfamiliar alley walls is all it takes to get lost. 

Instead of immediately looking for a map, they both insist that they know the way back, leading each other on a wild goose chase (literally, Killua threw a rock at a flock of geese) before they find themselves on the sketchy side of town staring at a family of ducks floating in the river from the bridge and are completely and utterly lost.

Which ensues another argument.

One thing led to another, Gon steals the lollipop he was eating and bites it off in one go. So he shoves Gon off the low hanging bridge and tries (and fails) to hold back his guffaws when his boyfriend fucks up his dive and ends up belly flopping into the river. It’s kind of an accident and of course Gon is fine — but he doesn’t regret in the slightest.

Above all, he’ll choose violence every time.

The closest thing to get Gon dry had been said laundromat, with a comically industrial sized fan wedged into the doorway that they have to duck under to get inside. Coupled with an odd homely aura that drew Gon in like a moth to the flame. Gon had stepped inside to ask for directions and the rest was history. Ever since they discovered it, it had been dubbed the soccer team’s official unofficial hang out spot after practice.

Hence, “The Hideout.”

There wasn’t really anything different or special about it compared to the numerous spots around town, but the old hag running the place had less hangups about the rowdy team shoving their way to the sitting room upstairs to wreak havoc almost every school night and would normally turn a blind eye to them so long as they didn’t break any of the machines or break a window upstairs.

It ultimately was the place the soccer team caused the  _ least _ amount of trouble.

Killua doesn’t mind the place, really. It was a small refuge he could get lost in until the streetlights came on and his boyfriend would remind him that Mito would be mad if they were late for dinner,  _ again _ .

Which brings him back to his original dilemma: Hisoka, who apparently owns the entire block, is a fucking creep.

If he said that out-loud, his teammates would just call him paranoid, heckle him for being rude; but they don’t see how Hisoka spends too long leering at Gon with his beady yellow eyes. Then again, none of them watch Gon as much as he does, so of course it goes right under their noses despite it being so blatantly obvious.

The man rarely showed up at the laundromat, but when he did it was always conveniently when he and Gon were there. It’s not like he felt threatened by him, he just didn’t like the weirdo, Hisoka never sat right with him.

It’s not the layers of foundation caked on his face that creeps him out.

Nor the way he called Gon (his boyfriend mind you) a “good boy”, like watching Killua’s fingers dance along Gon’s thigh was a personal achievement. (Killua had to be held back after that one.)

It’s the way Hisoka’s eyes leer, it’s too unnatural, cunning and conniving with an intensity that spoke beyond his years. Something that could only be just icing on the cake, something else hidden underneath.

Hisoka always speaks of hidden intent, voice dripping honey, and laying traps as he weaves his words into a carefully elaborated song. It’s the ease in which he does it, something second-nature, winding around endlessly for Killua alone to unravel — it has no effect on someone like Gon who likes to take people for their word, the idiot.

More or less, Hisoka is just bad news.

▭▬▭

Killua arrives at the laundromat in one piece, though the fan in the doorway nearly takes his head off (again). The old hag (he never bothered to learn her name) is strangely absent, she would’ve chased him off with a broom if he came in sprinting like he did any other day. 

For now though, that means he has total privacy upstairs, the perks of it being a weekday.

He whips out his phone once he clears the stairs, Gon said he was staying late but he didn’t say  _ how _ late.

▷  **Me:** **  
** how long does it take for knuckle to explain everything   
I took the long way around and still no one’s here

▷  **Gon:** **  
** I think he’s trying to explain a new drill   
I’ll be there soon   
Actually, maybe not, he’s talking about dachshunds now   
Sorry ;;

▷  **Me:** **  
** ok

▷  **Gon:** **  
** I’ll see you at the hideout :)

He clicks his tongue.

Killua finds his usual spot near the low table under the double wide window, takes a seat and shoves his fists in the space between his shorts and refuses to look at his phone. Instead he reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out Gon’s DS though officially it’s his for the next six days after his boyfriend busted his ass during their latest wall-sitting bet. He’s feeling particularly vindictive and hasn’t had the chance to actually play since he won it, so what better way to start than by deleting Gon’s sixty-two hour save file to make space for his own?

He sits in silence for what feels like hours, only accompanied by the clicks of buttons under his thumbs and the soft hum of the machines downstairs.

The light telltale pattern of feet walking up the creaky stairs draws him out of his stupor. Perhaps more time had passed than he realized.

“You’re too late Gon, I already deleted your save-”

“What’s this? Here by yourself?” It’s the voice that sets him off, syrupy sweet, borderline diabetes incarnate that’s so telling and familiar it sends sparks up and down his spine in alarm.

Killua whips around in his seat so fast it’s almost comical, the second his vision stops spinning he’s greeted by a tall man with slicked back cherry-red hair and lips curved into a saccharine smile that he never seemed to be without — or well Killua has never seen him scowling. He’s not expecting nor does he want to deal with Hisoka fucking Morow today of all days. But go figure he has the worst luck.

He turns back around, like he didn’t see him at all and schools his features back into something neutral. Hisoka wouldn’t bug him, after all he likes Gon, not him.

Of course, Hisoka is not one to be ignored. He makes a show of it, sitting right next to Killua. Killua makes it obvious he doesn’t want anything to do with him, so he scoots father to the side of the coffee table. Judging by the way Hisoka gets even closer to him, his hand brushing his thigh just enough for it to be suggestive but with plausible room for denial if he called him out on it.

So he doesn’t. Again, Hisoka likes Gon, this is all talk.

Slowly as the time flits by, Hisoka grows bolder and bolder. Try as he might to ignore it, Killua draws the line when he feels a thumb swipe along the edge of his— Gon’s shorts.

He swats at him, but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction more than that. “Knock it off Hisoka. I’m not in the mood for you today.”

“Oh pray tell when will you be? I see no reason why not now?” Slanted yellow eyes glance around the room, tellingly. “There’s no one here but us.”

“And I said piss off.” 

He absolutely detests the way Hisoka attempts to push his buttons to get a reaction out of him. It’s disgusting. Killua wants nothing to do with him.

Hisoka shuffles closer, his free hand coming to rest on the nape of the albino’s neck. Said boy wrinkles his nose in distaste, but ultimately says nothing.

He just has to wait it out. Gon will be here soon and Hisoka will back off when he does.

“We could make this enjoyable for the both of us, if you simply behave.” The man leans in, lips so close they brush the shell of his ear as he speaks in low tones, “I won’t hurt you,” He hums; “Unless… you want me to.”

Killua simply shrugs, a small move of his shoulders that feign nonchalance as he ignores the other in favor of his game. “Go find someone else to prey on, Hisoka.” He drawls, sounding almost bored.

The boy must really want to be brought to his knees.

Killua likes to test his patience, prodding the edges of it, trying to see what angle would make him give; but this was a game two could play.

Killua’s first mistake is assuming that messing with his patience would make him angry.

The teenager’s second mistake is his lack of awareness, for a boy always so conscious and guarded he could be surprisingly naive when it came down to it. The teen oozed with self-confidence issues — the thought that Hisoka wasn’t aware, wasn’t interested was simply asinine.

The poor boy didn’t realize how beautiful he was, sharp cerulean eyes with eyelashes so thick it could put most to shame. Long, willowy limbs wrapped around lithe muscles so subtle and easy to miss but painfully obvious to someone with a trained eye. He could wax poetic about the boy’s thin waist - what he would give to run his hands down that alabaster skin and sculpt him to his image. The thought of it, makes him hungry with the urge to test how long he could last until he broke.

No, what Hisoka craves is so much more. He is downright famished.

Hisoka doesn’t hesitate to put him in his place. Pettiness rears its ugly head, so he yanks the boy back just enough to startle him and throws his body forward, slamming him onto the table. The game system he’s holding clatters onto the floor, chest flush against the smooth cherry-wood and his hand keeping him still pressing on the back of his throat. And,  _ oh _ , he looks so good like this, cheeks blooming red from the assault, and azure glaring daggers at him.

There it is, that look of unguarded anger he knew the boy always carried. He’s beautiful like this, absolutely perfect, all his to do whatever Hisoka pleases with him.

Impatient, Hisoka delivers a harsh, hardy thrust against him so hard that he literally feels the table buck underneath him.

Hisoka moans, embarrassingly exaggerated as if he’s finally found something he’s been asking for over and over; almost as if this was something he had been biding his time for.

Killua fights the urge to gag and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing his member not to react. So he thinks of the worst sights his mind can conjure.

His mom naked.

Gotoh cleaning up after Mike.

His mom naked.

Zeno’s feet.

His mom naked.

How Milluki looks in that stupid undersized pink shirt of his.

How disgustingly desperate Hisoka must look right now, with that stupid squinting thing he does and drool probably running down his face and-

His sharp, manicured nails digging grooves into Killua’s side, then puffing up into bright red welts; and he gasps, curling into the table. Hisoka’s hands are different, he’s so used to Gon’s calluses holding his waist tight, pushing, prodding, and curious in all ways Hisoka isn’t. Gon’s hands are hilariously tiny, tiny enough that Gon has to wrap his arm around him to get him where he wants. Whereas Hisoka’s hands are large enough to hold the curve of his waist comfortably enough to even manhandle him on his side with just one hand.

“Look at me, Killua.”

Fingers curl around Killua’s chin, pulling him to meet his eyes. His thumb caresses his bottom lip, swiping over it again and again, the motion is soft and barely there even, but the intent of control is evident.

They dip down even further, slow in their travels as Hisoka explored his body. Falling into dips and curves, appreciating the heartbreakingly narrow waist that led way to wider hips that had absolutely no place on a boy his age.

Puberty has done him well, that’s certain.

Underneath him, Killua makes a strangled noise when he feels Hisoka hook onto the lip of his shorts and before he can react, yanks it down along with his boxers.

“Stop! ...Hisoka!” He chokes.

To say it’s overwhelming would be selling it short.

Killua isn’t some virgin, he’s used to sex. Sex with Gon. A soft give and take, possessive and passionate all at once. He’s never gotten tired of it, never wished there was anything else. He’s content with what he has.

So why does Hisoka’s hands, pulling harshly at the roots of his hair, shoot lightning down his spine? Why does he feel his dick downright  _ thob  _ at the feeling?

_ He’s never done that before! _

It feels good, and that’s the problem. It shouldn’t feel good, he doesn’t  _ want  _ it to feel good. He wants to be able to turn around, smirk at the pervert and tell him that he's nowhere as good as he thinks himself to be. Just to wipe away that goddamn smirk on his face.

“Did you enjoy that? How cute.”

Killua holds back a biting retort with a snarl, he reaches up and grabs at the hand in his hair and digs his nails in tight — wishing he had the strength to snap his bone clean in two.

Hisoka grants his wish, slipping his hands free of silver hair. His head throbs with the beginnings of a headache and yet the brief reprise he attempts to bask in is cut short when he feels an insistent tap on his torn lip — he didn’t even remember biting them in the first place.

Stubbornness laces through his veins in the form of pulling his lips tight, curling pale pink lips inwards. Out of sight out of mind, after all. Try as he might to deny Hisoka, he forcibly pushes through his barriers,  _ again _ . Sharp nails dig into the canopy of his cheeks, his grip tightening further to the point he’s sure he can feel his jaw creek under the pressure and he has no option but to obey — he’s got no way out.

The first touch is more curious than anything, though more certain than he’s used to. Hisoka’s fingers act near-like a substitute for his tongue, working their way around his mouth, mapping every divot and crack he can find, staking his claim as he goes. Fingers find his tongue- finally, they dip and prod at the appendage and it feels like something akin to a kiss. Killua notes the grooves under Hisoka’s fingertips and the slight taste of chemicals when the underside of his tongue laves over his polished nails. 

There’s a pattern to it, a method to his madness, but under Hisoka’s ministrations he has neither the time nor effort to figure it out and — ah, he’s drooling.

Hisoka’s other hand finds its way back to his thigh, stroking it with his thumb, a mockery of what a lover- what Gon would do. 

The new sensation is just enough to draw his attention away that he’s completely taken off-guard enough for Hisoka to plunge his fingers down his throat.

Killua gags.

The older man tests his limits, pitying strokes are replaced but a sharp, well timed  **SMACK** ! The sharp sound of it is unmistakable, it speaks volumes for Killua especially. Sure it stings, it hurts like hell with each one, but the feeling of what little control he has left slipping feebly through the cracks of his fingers hurt even more.

“More,” Hisoka encourages, his grin twisting into something manic. “Give me more, don’t disappoint me, let me see more of you!”

Killua’s body lurches as he struggles around him, coughing and sputtering; too panicked to right his breath from the intrusion. Then, Hisoka pushes them in  _ further  _ and his manicure scratches him the further down it travels.

Taking mercy on him, Hisoka pulls his fingers from his throat, pressing down on his tongue upon exiting. He wheezes — Hisoka is enjoying himself way too much. His teeth clench down on Hisoka’s fingers, hoping he messes up his stupid little manicure.

In retaliation, Hisoka moves to thumb the head of his dick, wrist twisting in a way that makes Killua give a startled, open mouth exhale. It frees Hisoka who looks down at him — positively condescending — and then  _ laughs _ as if this is funny.

“You’re ten years too early to be challenging me, don’t you think?”

Fingers wet with Killua’s spit, Hisoka plunges two into his hole, and before the other can even think to react, he’s already spreading him wide open, scissoring his puckered hole. With a sharp after-taste of pain, Killua can’t help but yelp. Everything’s happening too fast and worst of all seeing Hisoka’s face light up with glee makes his face flush red with embarrassment.

A pale hand reaches back and grasps Hisoka’s wrist but it doesn’t deter the man from fisting white strands and pulling it until Killua rewards him with a hiss.

“So, how does it feel? My fingers filling you up like this. Describe it for me.” Hisoka downright purrs slowly, with a lilt to his voice. Killua’s mouth floods with the taste of iron when his teeth clench down on the inside of his cheek and he wills himself not to make a single sound. Hisoka thrives on that kind of thing — he’s sure, he doesn’t want to give him more ammunition than he already has.

“What’s your answer then?”

“Just get it over with, Hisoka.”

Hisoka hums as if he’s thinking, long and dramatically drawn out, “Wrong answer...” Painted purple nails lead down to his neck and he wraps his hand around it tightly. Killua is quick to try and yank him away but Hisoka doesn’t budge. He squeezes the sides just enough to feel the ragged breath Killua takes around them. 

“Don’t!” He hisses.

Irritatingly — annoyingly enough, Hisoka’s expression is nothing but patient.

Unkindly, he yanks out his fingers and Killua can’t help the pathetic gasp he lets loose. His fingers are quickly replaced with something throbbing and hot. It dawns on him what this is, that this is actually going to happen. Hisoka has gotten him right where he wants him and Killua has not only walked straight into his web, but entangled himself in his web and expected to win. The fact of the matter is, Hisoka saw him as nothing but prey, something to be conquered and as the loser, he would have to reap the consequences from his predator. And that’s exactly what Hisoka is; his eyes scream  **predator** , it's as if he’s a hawk watching a snake, lying in wait for the right moment to strike him down with his talons.

“Make me, boy.” He fucks into Killua with brutal thrusts, forcing him open. The initial burn is near agonizing, Hisoka is big, bigger and thicker than he’s used to and he can feel his walls stretch under his onslaught. He’s sure his lip is bleeding with how hard he’s biting it but even that can’t stop the low keen he lets out under his breath.

There’s nowhere else for him to escape to. Hisoka keeps him trapped under him with the full weight of his body bearing down and it’s utterly suffocating. Killua attempts to dislodge him, he uses all the force he can as he tries to push himself off the table and straining as he does so; to which Hisoka punishes with a hardy buck of his hips right into his prostate. 

“Ah!”

Slowly, he feels himself be unraveled piece by piece. Pride be damned he can’t help but hate the fact that he feels good and whether intentional or just on instinct; Killua feels his tongue loosen. Paltry gasps and groans edging closer and closer to moans.

“Good boy, just like that.” Hisoka’s praise washes over his back like gasoline, seeping into his skin and lighting his body aflame.  _ Fuck. _

“I-” He gasps, feeling an aching longing akin to desperation. Hisoka loosens the vice grip on his neck just so, “I’m not your ‘good boy’, this isn’t enough to… to.” He holds back the quaking groan in the back of his throat, raising at the end.

“If you’re so unbothered by it, then why are you grinding back like you want me?” Hisoka coos.

What? He hadn’t — or at least he didn’t realize that his hips started grinding on Hisoka’s cock, matching his pace and actively seeking him out.

Killua struggles, wracking his brain for words, trying to form a sentence just to say something — anything — to him. 

It’s nothing short of entertaining to see the boy try and fail just as quickly.

He gives it to him good, hips grinding down, rolling into the bundle of nerves that makes the boy underneath him melt into his touch and throws himself at his mercy. Hisoka holds on tight to the boy, giving him exactly what he wants, his hands leave bruises along his waist in the shape of his fingers. Pleasure surges hot and sweet along his senses as he slows to a leisurely pace, treasuring the hot glide of skin on skin. He can tell the boy is getting close and he doesn’t want that, not right now.

He has a wicked idea to make him truly desperate — who knows when he will get this opportunity again after all. With a great amount of self control, Hisoka pauses, and for good measure he digs his sharp nails into Killua’s sweaty backside to jerk him back to reality. The boy really is cock crazy —  _ and he had the audacity to act like he wasn’t. Pity.  _

Killua downright whines, forgetting what he’s doing, and who with; only concerned with the fact that they had the gall to  _ stop  _ while fucking him this good, “Wha-? Huh? The hell, why did you stop-”

“You’re too cute,” Hisoka’s soft chuckles wrap around him like tentacles, wet and sticky and pull him back down to earth. “To claim you still think you don’t want me but look at you, spread wide open and dripping just for me.” Smug, so goddamn full of himself and worst of all, Killua hates that he isn’t wrong.

“N-never mind that just — fuck, you’re already fucking me!”

“Prove it to me,” His voice drips with poison. “Prove to me that I’m right.”

“Hisoka!”

The hum he lets out is a quiet, palacitating little thing, not quite satisfied and prompting him to go on. Entertained, but not pleased. No, not yet. Just to motivate him, he gives a shallow thrust short of his prostate.

“Ugh-just. Fuck, fine — please! Please fuck me Hisoka.” Shame is a rotting weed in his stomach, gripping onto him tighter than Hisoka’s hand on his neck. He doesn’t have time to revel in it as said man rams his forehead into the table and manicured nails cut off his air supply. The other hand cups his cock, wrapped lightly enough for Killua to chase after the sensation it teases.

Killua’s downright melts when Hisoka pushes himself back in, hips snapping into his and god he can’t think straight. Hisoka is all around him, surrounding him, stretching him and pushing him to the point of breaking. He wants to fight it, he  _ should _ fight it but with each forceful thrust, all he can think about is surrendering himself to the pleasure.

Liquid lightning swims through his veins, making him jerk into Hisoka’s hand and, god, he wants it. He wants more. His body shakes with each thrust, pale ivory skin turning red all over by the blood rushing through his veins.

There’s no subtlety at this point, the room is filled to the brim with the sound of wet skin slapping incessantly, accompanied with his own wonton moans and Hisoka’s voice creeping low yet sweet like honey and it grates on his ears, impossible to ignore.

Anyone could walk in on them now, Knuckle, Shoot, Zushi, Gon, hell even the old lady who runs this place could come up and see him on his knees bent over a table, Hisoka fucking him for all he’s worth, fucking him good enough to make him cry like a cheap whore. It’s humiliating.

So why does it feel good?

Hisoka feels incredible inside him, he doesn’t want it to end. They will never be like this again and he doesn’t know how to get that across. The want, the need, the burning inferno flicking at his limbs, beaconing him with its warmth.

So he says Hisoka’s name. He gasps it out desperately against the vice around his throat, over and over and over again until his lips memorize it and his jaw goes sore.

Hisoka is there when they start to lose themselves to a canal desire, timed thrusts devolving into a frenzied jerking. He’s there when the tone in his voice climbs higher and higher until light dances across his eyelids and the knot so tightly wound in his gut seizes taught and gives way to something  _ more _ . 

“Nnn-!” Moaning turns into  _ screaming _ and;  _ oh god I’m coming it’s good  _ — _ so good! Hisoka! _

By the time he’s fully aware of himself again, Hisoka's already pulled out, the bastard came inside and stained him with physical proof of the mark he’s left on him. He looks much too pleased with himself as he admires his handiwork, parting his cheeks for a better view. Killua can’t stand to look at him, not after he just possibly gave him the best orgasm of his life.

His legs are shaking too much for him to get off the table without struggling but he manages to get up without much trouble. Hisoka is having a much better time, he makes a show of straightening out his pants, though he’s not really paying attention. He can’t.

The haze around his mind clears, the force of what he’s just done hits him dead on. Horror hits him first, until a chill settles it into a frigid hatred. Like one would love their partner, Killua hates Hisoka with an equal intensity. Can’t stand to even look at him — not after. Not after all that. Because despite how he had told Hisoka not to, by the end he begged him for it, he came for him and he’s afraid for what that means. For him and Hisoka, and especially for him and Gon.

“Please… Please don’t tell Gon.” He croaks, raw and rough around the edges.

“Suit yourself. I’d love to stick around to see how precious Gon would react but I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome.” From over his shoulder he turns to look at Killua, “If you ever feel… lonely. You know where to find me.”

Frowning, Killua gathers his things up too, he doesn’t want to stay in this room any longer. His thoughts run a mile a minute around his head but only one in particular calls out to him over the rest.

**_But he liked it._ **

▬▭▬

▷  **Gon:** **  
** I’ll be there soon!! Knuckle needed help with something but I’m done now!   
The rest of the team is with me too!   
Except Zushi, he got sick and had to go home but we’re still coming once we drop him off!   
Killua?

▷  **Me:** **  
** Something came up, I’m going home. I’ll bring your shorts tomorrow.

▷  **Unknown Number:** ****  
Had a great time (*・∀-)☆   
By the way, you should really remember to lock your phone next time.

**Author's Note:**

> SWEATS,, this was supposed to be 2k max. Whoops?
> 
> Bonus points if you can tell where I got the laundromat design from.


End file.
